Bullets and Consequences
by FirstBloodContest
Summary: Promo fic for the First Blood Contest. Eric is a detective failing to cope with the loss of his partner during a stakeout gone wrong. Sookie is a psychologist who's asked to help him through this difficult time. Can Sookie help Eric?


**First Blood Contest**

**Title: **Bullets and Consequences

**Writer Status: **_Serial_

**Beta: **_SibylVane Vamp_

**Characters: **_Eric and Sookie with cameos by Bill, Philipe De Castro, and Pam_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own any SVM characters, dang it!_

**Notes: **Promo fic for the First Blood Contest.

"Another one, Joe," I said while motioning my index finger to the empty lowball glass sitting on the bar in front of me. Joe waddled over in response and refilled my Johnny Walker Red; he even dropped another cube of ice in for good measure.

Joe was a portly man in his late fifties. He was balding, always wore black Dickey's work pants and a maroon and silver bowling shirt embroidered with "Mickey's Neighborhood Bar". I suspected he lost money each month if the lack of a crowd was any indication. Then again, no one really knew who "Mickey" was anyway. Joe could be one of the many men in this Jersey neighborhood who had considerable connections with the mob, but at 11:45 at night I didn't give a fuck.

I'd just come off a twelve hour shift at the station and when I drove across the GW Bridge I put the cop shit to the side. I'd learned it was a necessity when I damn near had a heart attack from the stress of the job before turning thirty. Five years later, here I am sitting at a bar, just me and Johnny Walker sorting through my life.

Sometime in the last five years, I'd turned into a cynical asshole. Cynical about my ability to change the world, you know- make a better place for our future generations, and all that shit. Asshole because any other day I'd be prowling for my "nightly thrill," as my old partner Bill like to call it, which was just a more proper way to say "piece of ass". But not tonight. No, tonight I drank alone, purposely.

George Thorogood's "I Drink Alone" played idly in my head as I swirled the amber liquid inside the glass. I vaguely noted a slim brunette shimmy up to my right side. She propped herself up on the bar stool and turned her large implants in my direction.

"Hi," she said in a tone I was sure she had practiced to ensure maximum sex appeal. Any other man, or hell even me on any other night, would've appreciated her efforts.

I took a loud breath in and coolly turned my head in her direction. "You know when I drink alone; I prefer to be by myself."

"Huh?" I damn near chuckled at her response. Obviously she didn't get the song reference or understand that I wanted to be left alone.

"Look, I appreciate your attention but I doubt I'm going to partake tonight." I decided to let her down easy, as opposed simply telling her to "fuck off" like I wanted to. Also, perhaps subconsciously, I left a door open for myself by saying "I doubt." Hell, you never knew what could come up.

"Its just before midnight," she turned her head to look at the _Jets_ clock above the bar, "I'm going to sit right over there," as she spoke she stretched her fake red painted fingernail in the direction of the far corner of the bar, "you come and get me when you're ready."

Two hours, and five drinks later I staggered back towards the men's room in search of the woman who propositioned me. Three minutes after that, the busty brunette was bent over in the handicapped stall of the women's bathroom. I didn't catch her name as I pushed her into the stall and moved her hands to the support rail. I almost laughed when I flipped her skirt up to reveal a red lace thong: _what a whore_. Revolted but undeterred, I unzipped my pants, pulled out my dick, sheathed myself in latex, moved the offensive red lace to the side, and slipped in, easily.

I awoke the following morning to Deacon, my four year old boxer, licking the stubble and drool on my chin. It was just after seven, per the devil with bright red numbering _Dream Machine my ass_- everyday that bitch woke me up to reality. I cringed to think that I got a rousing three hours of sleep in last night. Covering my eyes with my hand I turned my head away from the bright light infiltrating my bedroom from the blind-less window.

With almost perfect timing my cell starting vibrating its way across the beer bottle ring-stained nightstand.

"Fucking A, it's starting even earlier than usual." Deep breath in, slow exhale out. "Northman," I recited into the speaker of my cell.

"Where the fuck are you?" Captain Felipe DeCastro, Phil as most of us called him unless he was riding our asses and then it was Dee, sounded even more pissed than his usual state when dealing with me.

"Huh?" Yeah, don't call me at seven o'clock in the morning and expect to have the most intelligent conversation.

"You're late for your, argh," Phil stumbled midway through his sentence and then finally recovered with, "session."

"Huh?" This time I felt my lip and eyebrow arch up in confusion, my brain just wasn't going to follow cryptic messages this early in the morning.

"Your _session_," I could tell he was gritting his teeth and his voice lowered significantly. "You know with Ms. Stackhouse, the department psychologist."

"Fuck," I whispered under my breath, "give me thirty minutes." I stalled thinking of what I needed to do to make myself presentable: shower, shave, and throw on some clean pants. "Yeah, I'll be there in thirty."

I almost missed his last statement as I leaped, well, more like propelled myself up with as much force as a hung-over six foot, four inch man could muster. "No need, she said she was coming to you. Actually, she should be there any minute now."

"Wha-" I didn't even get out the one word question when there was a firm knock at my door. "Shit, she's here." I hung up before Phil could say bye.

Scrambling over to my dresser I found a pair of sleep pants to pull on. Huh, sleeping in the nude did put one at a disadvantage for early morning visitors. I hopped through the apartment pulling first one leg and then the other through the pants. I knelt down to take a look through the peep-hole, my back creaking in the process, while I tied the drawstring.

A very pretty blonde stood impatiently on the other side, head cocked to the side, pink pouty lips pulled into a tight line, and Carolina blue eyes darting up and down the length of the door. Her right fist rose to knock again, but before she could make contact I pulled the door open.

"Detective Northman, I presume." Her eyes started at the top of my head and trailed down my body in assessment. I was used to women eyeing me, but this felt different. She was a professionally trained analyst of the human mind and its reactions and it was a bit scary to see her making her evaluation.

"Dr. Stackhouse?" Her eyes snapped to mine and I felt like I was back in third grade being chastised by my teacher for talking during class.

"I'm not a doctor."

"Oh, couldn't handle med school huh?" Her eyes narrowed at me and I knew I was in trouble. Yeah, this woman was almost a foot shorter than me, but she looked like she knew how to take a man down. I laughed nervously because I just didn't know what else to do. She stood there looking at me expectantly, "I'm sorry; sometimes I say things before thinking them through."

"Interesting, I'll make a note of that."

"Ah, would you please come in?" I moved out of the doorway and swung my arm back in invitation. She slowly leaned forward and peered around the room. Apparently, it wasn't too scary because she quickly stepped past me to enter.

"I assume you live alone?"

_How the hell_- _oh, right_. She assumed I lived alone due to the dirty laundry scattering the floor, a sink full of dishes waiting to be washed, and one of my most prized possessions the sixty inch flat screen that took up one entire wall (of course, I also had a complete Bose surround sound system, but she probably didn't see the speakers since they were wall-mounted). I guess my place did scream bachelor pad. I had to laugh at her deduction skills before finally replying, "Yes."

In two long strides I was at the couch grabbing clothes to clear us a place to sit.

"I assume you know why I'm here Detective Northman?" She asked as she took a seat at one end of my black leather couch instantly crossing her legs and taking out her legal pad.

"Eric, please call me Eric, and yes, I know why you're here." I exhaled loudly in frustration. "You're here because the department is concerned that I've been traumatized from watching my partner die at the hands of a criminal, who I then killed. And they're afraid I'm going to go… oh what's the word? Oh yeah, postal."

A smile cracked her lips before she pulled them tight once again, "Are you?"

"Am I going to go postal?" I laughed unnecessarily. "No."

"Detective Northman-"

"Eric," I interrupted as I shifted my weight from one leg to the other as I did when I was nervous.

"Fine, Eric, was this the first time you were required to utilize your personal firearm?"

"Yes, ah- No," I answered too quickly and could hear the uncertainty in my voice. _Shit! This is bad, this is bad. No psychologist visit ever ends well. Shit! Get it together Northman, think!_ I turned to sit in the chair opposite the couch, giving me a minute to calm down and come up with a semi-reasonable response since I damn sure wasn't going to tell her about showing off my piece to my boys last winter during while shooting beer cans. "No, I have never had to "utilize" my gun on a perpetrator if by utilize you mean kill? I had to fire a warning shot once but I wasn't aiming to do permanent damage."

She shifted in her seat and I felt a sense of calm satisfaction since it looked like she was satisfied with my response. As it turns out my sense of calm was short-lived.

"You've been spotted at a local bar almost every night since the incident."

I brought both hands up to rub my eyes, trying to convince myself that this was a dream, or nightmare rather. "I could be 'spotted,' as you say, at that same bar every night before the incident."

"So you're an alcoholic?"

Ok, that was going a bit far. "No, not that it's any of your business, but I enjoy the company of the people there." She gave me a look that rivaled one my mother had given me when I missed curfew, at sixteen. I cleared my throat before looking her directly in the eye. "Why are you interrogating me? Are you sure you're a psychologist or are you with internal review?"

"Both."

_Ah-ha!_ "Well that explains a lot. So let me guess, you're here to use some psycho babble bullshit to get me to open up and then you'll report your findings to the review board and get me canned?"

Looking me dead in the eye her mouth pulled in a tight line and her left eyebrow arched in emphasis, "No, I'm here to help you work through what was undoubtedly a traumatic experience." She paused and looked down at the burgundy frieze area rug Pam had insisted I buy after closing on my condo, "You are not one of my review cases."

"And I'm supposed to believe you because…"

Her eyes shot back up to mine and she looked, almost, offended. "Because the Captain says you're one of the best detectives he has and he doesn't want to lose you when you make some stupid decision like trying to quit. My being here is really more of a favor to him."

I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my bare chest reminding me that I wasn't fully dressed.

Much like those stupid Twix commercials, I needed break…a minute to think. "If you'll excuse me for one moment."

She nodded her head in understanding and looked around while I stood and headed toward my bedroom. I threw on one of my old NYU t-shirts and ran a comb through my hair. Walking back into the living room, I noticed my visitor had moved to look at the scattering pictures I had hanging on the wall over my desk.

"The one with Bill is the day we graduated from the academy. The others are of my family," I said while I headed towards the kitchen.

She turned to face me and pointed over her shoulder, "Who's the blonde girl?"

The "break" had done us both some good evidently; I was calm, and clothed, and she was starting to become less frigid. "That's my little sister, Pam. She graduated from Oxford in May."

"Wow, Oxford, that's impressive. Where did you go to school?"

I pointed to my chest. "NYU 2002. You?"

"UNC 2006."

"Good school, great basketball team." She smiled at my commentary. "How'd you make it up north?"

She cracked a shy smile while walking to stand across the kitchen island, "Who's questioning who here?"

"Quid Pro Quo, Clarice. Quid Pro Quo." I quoted Silence of the Lambs and she laughed, which looked incredibly good on her. "Seriously though, you said this was more of a personal favor, so I figure we can do things a little differently."

She laughed again, a delightfully light but genuine laugh. "I'm from Louisiana originally, but knew I didn't want to live in the backwoods forever. Since middle school I knew I wanted to go to Yale. I busted my butt through high school, played sports, president of student council, straight A's and… I didn't get in." She laughed again and shook her head as she reminisced. "I did get into UNC, so I packed my bags and moved to North Carolina. While in school I met a charming young man, as my gran would say. After graduation I followed said young man up here realizing only after I'd relocated that he was in fact a liar and a cheater, and far far from charming. I decided to stay and reached out to Phil, who I met through his niece Sandy, one of my roommates in college. He was willing to help me in finding a job and a place to live. The rest, as they say, is history. You?"

I smirked as she threw the proverbial ball back into my court. "Born in Stockholm to a father who spent all his time working and a mother who spent all of her time trying to figure out a way to get my father's attention. It worked for about three years, but then my father was back to focusing on work so along came my younger sister Pam. Pam worked for another two years but eventually things went back to the way they always were and mother tired of the game. She packed us up and headed for the US when I was ten and Pam was six." I shook my head, "Honestly, it's a miracle either of us graduated from high school much less college, we both rebelled quite a lot."

"You must be very smart if you got into NYU and she got into Oxford."

I had to laugh at that. "Yeah, I guess. I also think Father making a sizable donation to our selected schools helped exponentially. I guess he thought it was the least he could do since he fucked, opps sorry, messed up pretty badly as a father."

She smiled again, a big toothy smile showing off her sparkling pearly whites. "I work at the police station; you aren't going to say anything I haven't heard before."

I gave her my best smile in return, the one I liked to think was a "panty wetter," as Bill used to say.

"Hold on," her sharp reprimand brought me out of my thoughts of her panties. "Did you just give me 'the Northman panty wetter'?"

The smile fell from my lips and my jaw fell slack. "How do you know about that?"

"Are you kidding me? It's legendary in the department." She laughed and shook her head at my stupidity.

I had to laugh and shake my head right along with her as I felt my cheeks begin to flush, which hadn't happened since high school. Well, what the hell, in for a penny in for a pound, "Did it work?"

She eyed me for a minute before simply smiling back and dropping her eyes to the floor.

"Would you like a-" I opened the door to the fridge, "ah, water or Gatorade? We'll I've got beer too, but since it's before noon I didn't think that was appropriate."

"Water would be great, thanks."

I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and a clean glass from the dishwasher before depositing both in front of her. "Ok, so what do you want to know?"

"Tell me about the night Bill died."

"At 10:55 pm we were wrapping up a surveillance op over at the docks." She held up her hand to stop me.

"I've read the reports you turned in; tell me about your experience during the incident."

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the range. She shimmied up on one of my bar stools and crossed her legs. It was then I noticed her tan shapely legs were accentuated with stiletto high heels. Her legs looked amazing and I desperately wanted to run my tongue along the inside of them before she wrapped them tightly around me as I thrust into her. She cleared her throat and brought me back to reality. "Ah, well you know death is never easy."

"Especially when it's your partner of almost ten years dying." Wow, she really knew how to cut to the point.

"True." She raised her eyebrows expecting me to continue but I was lost in my thoughts.

I had been close to death before, but never like I was that night. Bill and I had just wrapped up our stakeout monitoring a warehouse we believed to be the headquarters for a group of perps.

The robberies had been going on for several months and began small. A mom 'n pop corner convenience store, a late night dry cleaner, and movie rental store were the first hit. Cash and merchandise was stolen, several garments were taken from the dry cleaner, but no one was hurt. However, after the fifth robbery, a pawn shop, they took a more serious and dangerous turn. That fifth robbery had been a breaking point and the gang had killed the front desk clerk; perhaps, they didn't go into the robbery thinking they were going to kill someone. Maybe, it was the fact that the security camera clearly showed the clerk going for a handgun located below the counter but the end result was that the clerk was killed, murdered. The fifth robbery was also important because it gave us our first clear surveillance tape showing a team of three men in the store and a fourth man as a lookout. The thieves had taken several pieces of jewelry, also a new development. Turns out, the perpetrators had an affinity for jewelry and they began targeting jewelry stores after that first experience at the pawn shop. The media dubbed them the Bling Bandits and from that point on you could count on two things: one, they were going to hit a jewelry store and two, someone was going to die.

That fateful night we received a tip that four men dressed in dark clothing, believed to be the Bling Bandits, had been spotted at the warehouse we parked outside. We sat for hours waiting to see if anyone entered or exited the building, but three hours and four cups of coffee later there were no signs of anyone inside the building.

I stepped outside to take a quick leak before we called it a night. And there I stood, marking the side of the building with my initials (yes it's a pathetic way to amuse oneself but I was doing it) when three gunshots rang out. I ducked behind our unmarked car for cover and quickly looked around for the source of the shots. A few minutes later there were loud voices coming from inside the warehouse.

I motioned to Bill, who had ducked down in the front seat with the radio in his hand (he was always the dutiful one about reporting in), that I was going around the side of the building to locate all potential escape routes for the people inside while Bill called it in. As I slid around the warehouse, my back to the metal siding, I found no other unlocked doors, making the garage doors of the loading docks the only way for the men to get out. Thankfully we had parked to the side of the building so Bill had a good view of anyone leaving. I rounded the final corner with the car coming into view only to find Bill easing around to the loading docks.

"Freeze!" He yelled as a slim twenty something punk kid with pants that did a poor job of defying gravity slowly turned towards him. But the kid didn't stop once he turned around. He calmly stepped toward my partner and reached behind him.

"I said Freeze!" Bill repeated but the kid's hand continued to move towards his back at last pulling out a nine millimeter semi-automatic. Bill waited longer than I would have before he shot, but when he finally squeezed the trigger he shot to disable, permanently.

Another shot rang out before I had a chance to spot the source, a second man on the roof. The very man who killed Bill. The worst part was not being able to rush to Bill's aid. I stood there shaking with adrenaline as the fucker climbed down the fire escape and turned in Bill's direction. He too appeared to be in his twenties and wore a tight black wife-beater and dark-wash jeans slung low across his hips. He walked over to Bill and squatted next to him, clearly inspecting his kill. As he began rummaging through my fallen friend's coat pockets I lost it.

"Hey!" I yelled to get his attention.

His nine millimeter was shoved in the front of his pants (stupid kid) and when he heard me he instantly grabbed for his weapon. I didn't give him time to fully draw the gun before I unloaded a full clip into his chest. The scene was straight out of a movie as he staggered and fell backwards at Bill's feet. I stood there watching the blood gurgle out of the wounds I'd inflicted. _'So this was what it feels like to kill'_, I remember thinking as the gravity of the situation began to sink in.

By the time I reached Bill it was clearly too late and his coloring had already began to fade. I sank to my knees next to his body making sure I didn't touch him or any part of the crime scene. I would never get to give Bill that "man hug" we always joked about; never get to tell him how much his friendship meant to me. If you had asked me that night I would've told you it was hours before backup came with an ambulance in tow, when in reality I waited only a few minutes for the assistance which would do little in the end.

Two additional bodies were found inside the warehouse confirming our original thought that the four person team were holed up inside. Obviously, the Bling Bandits had had some sort of a dispute, although we will never know the cause since there were no survivors. The handguns were all stolen from that pawn shop and inside the building over two hundred thousand dollars worth of jewelry was discovered in addition to other firearms, clothes, and stereo equipment.

I was hailed a hero, a sentiment I was far from comfortable with as I kept seeing Bill being shot down because I failed to spot the guy on the roof.

To this day, the image of Bill as he lay on the concrete, a pool of blood surrounding his abdomen, haunts my every dream.

"You ok?" She asked bringing me out of my thoughts. "I thought I lost you there for a while."

I chuckled half-heartedly. "Sorry, I just don't know if I can talk about it yet." She smiled warmly. "But you can tell Phil that I'm not going anywhere, I just need some time before he assigns me another partner."

"I understand," she eased off the barstool and stepped towards me her hand outreached. "Sookie Stackhouse, by the way, and please know that if you ever need to talk I'm always available. On or off the record." I took her small hand in mine and appreciated her firm grip.

"Thank you Ms. Stackhouse, I may take you up on that." I gave her the panty wetter smile once again before walking her to the door. As she stepped through the threshold she turned back to look at me, "And please call me Sookie." She winked before turning to walk down the hall.

A week later I found myself standing in front of Mickey's conflicted as to if I really wanted to go in and have my nightly drink at the bar and fuck in the bathroom. I reached my right hand into my coat pocket and fingered the slip of paper on which I had written Ms. Stackhouse's, Sookie's, address.

What the hell, it was time for something new. Turned out Sookie lived only three blocks from me and I was at her building in no time. I rang the buzzer anxious over if she would let me in. It was just past nine after all. Although, who was I to assume that she was even at home? She was probably out on some hot date.

"Yes?" Sookie's sweet southern accent came clearly through the speaker.

"Sookie, it's Eric Northman, err- Detective Northman, I'm so sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could take you up on your offer?"

A quiet giggle came back through the speaker as door unlocked and I let myself in.

I pulled the little slip of paper back out to confirm the apartment number, 510, before taking the elevator up to the fifth floor. I softly knocked on the numbered door and heard the safety chain slide loose. The door swung open and I was greeted by Ms. Stackhouse in a pair of sleep shorts and a white tank top, barefoot. I tried as hard as I possibly could to not focus on the outline of her perfectly round breasts through the fitted tank.

She smiled as though she could read my mind, "You know some girls would see a visit at this time of night as a booty call."

I tried to look embarrassed but failed, miserably. "I'm sorry to disrupt your evening, its just… I felt like I could trust you, when you came to my condo before."

"It's alright. I have no life, so I'm here most nights." I highly doubted that, but I was not going to argue with her. "Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?"

I stepped into her apartment and was amazed at how small it was! "How many square feet is this?" My nose crinkled up while I took dorm-sized apartment.

She laughed at my assessment of her living arrangement. "About 500. Not all of us can afford two bedroom apartments on a government salary." She walked to her kitchen area and opened one of the smallest refrigerators I'd ever seen. "Ok, I have a Riesling I just opened, water, iced tea, and there may be a Bud in the back of the fridge from my ex, but if they have an expiration date it's probably long past."

Huh, so she hasn't dated anyone seriously for quite some time. "I'll take a glass of the Riesling." She raised her eyebrows, surprised at my choice.

"So what made you change your mind about talking?" She asked while pouring each of us a glass of wine.

"I think I'm just tired of living in the rut I've been living in for the past six months. I feel almost like Bill Murray in that movie Groundhog Day. You know the one where he keeps living the same day over and over and no matter what he does, the outcome is always the same?"

She laughed, "I do love Bill Murray, he's hilarious." She smiled at me and tilted her head slightly to the left. "Are you sure Mickey didn't call in your tab at the bar? Or was the new blood coming in not to your satisfaction?" Both jabs were made in a joking tone but I knew she was trying to get a better since of my motivation.

"No, I have no problem in either area." Insert panty wetter smile here. "It's just that you seem easy to talk to and I think I like you."

"You think you like me, huh?" She smirked at me as she sat on one end of the sofa and motioned for me to sit on the other. "Alright, so tell me what's going on in that beautiful head of yours."

I knew she had to find me attractive; the chemistry was palpable between us. "About six months before Bill and I were promoted to detectives, we were called to a domestic dispute in Midtown West. We knocked first, hell I lived the policy manual like it was the Bible back then, but when there was no answer the entered since the door was unlocked. I covered for Bill as we entered the living area to find a female down on her knees while a male pressed a gun to her temple. We tried negotiating with the male but he was irate and wouldn't listen, kept saying "we die together" and crazy shit like that. Finally he cocked the gun and shot. By some miracle Bill managed to get his shot off first and the guy bled-out there in on the living room rug. That night changed Bill and I never understood why until I killed that kid. Yes, he was a criminal and I witnessed his most brutal crime, but he was still just a kid. I remember congratulating Bill after he killed that abusive asshole that night, much like I was congratulated after I shot Bill's killer, but I now understand why every time he was congratulated he looked shameful; in the end we are killers just as they are."

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, and put my head in my hands. _'Maybe coming here tonight was a mistake'_, I thought as the guilt once again gripped me. I looked up when I felt Sookie's warm hand on my shoulder.

"Tell me about that night."

For the next hour I recounted the story including some things I left out of my official report. She asked some questions but just listened most of the time.

"The guilt is suffocating me," I said looking up to see her eyes were glassy with tear streaks coming down her face. "It's bad enough that I killed that kid but to cause Bill's death too? See the thing is that I was the one who didn't follow protocol that night. I'm the one who didn't wait for backup. I'm the one left Bill alone. I'm the one who didn't notice one of the men was on the roof. I'm the one who caused Bill to get killed!"

Sookie moved from her place beside me on the sofa to stand directly in front of me. I spread my legs and she stepped closer still until her knees brushed the inside of my thighs and her hands wrapped around either side of my face. Her thumbs stroked slowly back and forth across my checks as she tilted my head back so she could gaze into my eyes.

"Eric, it is not your fault. You and Bill were doing your jobs. He was killed in the line of duty and you made a necessary decision to protect yourself from an armed gunman." Her eyes bored into mine but I said nothing, mesmerized by her eyes. "It's not your fault, Eric." I nodded softly struggling to hold back my own tears. "It's not your fault."

Her thumbs continued to stroke my cheeks as she pushed me back. She followed placing first her left knee and then her right on either side of my hips.

"It's not your fault Eric."

Her lips softly brushed against forehead before grazing lower to my right cheek and then my left.

"It's not your fault Eric."

I could feel myself hardening as her warm center grazed over the ridge of my jeans and her hips rocked back and forth ever so slowly.

"It's not your fault Eric."

I looked into her eyes once more and was completely engulfed by the warmth and understanding I saw. In a split second her lips collided with mine, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. My hands ran up and down her back pushing her closer to me as my tongue caressed first her bottom lip seeking entrance as our tongues and lips found their match.

Unable to wait any longer I arose from the couch, keeping a hand under her firm rear as she tightened her legs around my waist. "Where?" I whimpered.

"Stay with me," I heard her whisper as I laid her gently down on the bed.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," I surprised myself by responding with no hesitation.

As I lay there stroking Sookie's smooth shoulder while she slept two things occurred to me: first, that I had never truly made love to woman before arriving at Sookie's doorstep and second, that for the first time in months tomorrow was going to bring the hope of a new day. I mentally ran through the conversation I wanted to have with the Captain about getting a new partner. Was I going to eat some crow from him? Sure, but I'd glad handle whatever he could think to dish out as long as I had Sookie to come back to. I said a quick prayer of thanks before joining Sookie in the first restful sleep I'd had in months.

That was the first of a lifetime of nights Sookie and I spent together. There are only a handful of things about which I am absolutely certain, but one of those is that Sookie was sent to be my mate. I had to laugh because Bill always did said that one day I'd meet my match when I least expected it. Turns out, the bastard, God rest his soul, was right.

Check out the rest of the Eric's First Blood Contest at:

http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2501525/FirstBloodContest


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